


Liberté en Vol

by FlushedDeck



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlushedDeck/pseuds/FlushedDeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America had shown up on his doorstep in tears. He was heartbroken because of a secret. One that France wanted to know. One that once it was found out, would be a life changing topic. "I don't know how to tell him my secret."<br/>It's alright, he had assured, it will all come around in due time.</p><p>As America struggles with his relationship with England, he seeks help from France asking him about how one would go about finally telling someone close your secret of two hundred years. Little did he know France would find out in the end instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberté en Vol

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.

            It had been a beautiful sunny day; a calm soothing atmosphere that was often not found gravitated in the air. France sat back in a large sunroom, watching as strokes filled up an already filled canvas. He had no muse, no means to paint anything of value. Just brush stroke after brush stroke. Color after color.

            Day soon turned to night while the lights of his home reminded bright. Paint. More paint was wasted on another worthless piece. No love or desire came from it. No passion oozed from its pores. It lacked.

            The colors could be bright yet remain dull in his eye. Nothing was coming together. Nothing was correct. It was all just blank space. These paintings, these drawings, were all just ways to fill up his heart. Ways to fill up his blank never ending days.

            Years and years and years had passed like this, more willingly than he would like to admit at times. A never ending cycle. That was life, which was his life.

            It was England’s life too. And Canada’s, America’s, Germany’s Italy’s- everyone’s life. Never ending cycle of regret. Trust that was never truly there. Bathing in blood and sorrow. A warm static that made its way around your neck like a cold unforgiving blade that at any moment could be brought down and end everything.

            He shuddered before standing up on sock clad feet. He glanced over at the clock. 2:07 am. It was pitch black, there was no noise outside. France went over to the sink getting a glass of water before trudging up the stairs, leaving the painting to its horrid scene.

* * *

        

            Rapping on the door roused him out of sleeping limbo. France checked the clock again. 3:01. Stretching his back muscles, he stood up grabbing a thin robe to cover his chest. He still had on one sock. The monstrosity was still drying in the sunroom.

            The door was opened. Sniffling was heard, more like half sobs. France met the eyes of his home’s trespasser.

            America. Sweet, naïve America. America who was trying not to cry, who looked as though he was trying to shrink in on his skin. One with a split lip and red rimmed eyes.

            Who was hugging the gift he got for his and England’s anniversary. It was broken.

            The boy was _heartbroken._

            He met France’s eyes with a silent question a silent plea, _‘May I come inside?’_

The French nation nodded, stepping aside to allow the other to pass. He shuffled inside toeing off his untied shoes. They were covered in mud, mud that formed from dirt that was mixed with rain. English rain. His jacket was damp. His cheeks were flushed.

            France stepped forward wrapping a reassuring hand around the others larger more callused ones. He was a strong boy, one that had never truly grown up.

            “I- he- I wasn’t ready- I couldn’t- and he jus’-” America stuttered out hiccupping a few times afterwards. “I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t tell him. He got so angry an’, I tried to apologize,” he took another deep shuddering breath before his words turned back into whimpers then sobs.

            The gift fell to the floor as did the young nation. He sobbed on the floor of France’s country home clothes and cheeks damp. France was only wearing a robe, a sock, and a saddened expression.

            He got down on his own knees cradling the American’s face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away raspberry tears. His cheeks were blotched red. Lashes wet with tears.

            “It’s alright. I will be alright _mon cher_. Take a deep breath,” he whispered out. America nodded only slightly seeming to barely hear the other. France tugged the other up by his wrists steering him towards the bathroom.

            Warm washcloths washed away tears and grime. Sweet words blanketed sorrows, like a bandage on a gun wound. It seemed to work but he knew it wouldn’t.

            America lay curled in the large bed, head connected with France’s chest much like he had done when he was still a colony. Still a small child. He was still a child. Still a sweet innocent child who believed in fairytale endings.

            If it were only that easy.

* * *

 

            The current situation could have been started a week ago. Or a year ago. Or over two hundred years ago.

            Two hundred years for a bond. One year for a relationship, a hard solid relationship that made the room that much brighter; one that was supposed to last. A week for the daunting question _of how am I supposed to do this?_

            America had come to France a week ago. He had come to France a year ago. He had come to France two hundred years ago.

            “I don’t know how to tell him my secret.”

            “I don’t know how to tell him I do still love him and I want us to be together.”

            “I don’t know how to tell him I still will always think of him as _my_ hero.”

            _It’s alright_ , he had assured, _it will all come around in due time._

            He had been right. France had been right, for the most part. America broke away from England, from the British Empire, and made a name for himself. He came back. During a war, a World War no less. Held out his arms open for England; for the one and only Arthur Kirkland.

            England turned and walked away.

            The next time he shook his hand.

            Times after that it was a hug.

            Many times after that it was delicate kisses and slightly pink noses.

            Now it was shouting and sobbing. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just can’t tell!_

* * *

            America had showed up on France’s door step a week prior. The boy had been all happy smiles and optimism. There was also a low lying unease, a guard up. France had opened the door with a flourish, a smile alighting on his own face. It was slightly wolfish but he would never try anything against the superpower.

            Reason one: Arthur would pound him into a gross concoction that he would then feed to homeless children, or a barn animal. Whichever was closer.

            Reason two: If Arthur didn’t America certainly would. His _[rather round and supple]_ ass was off limits.

            It was sadly off limits even if it deserved to be felt, slapped, and pinched. Arthur honestly had no fucking clue what good fortune he had to land such a cute face with such a beautiful _derrière_.

            “It is nice to see you _Amérique_ , please do come in,” he stepped aside a smile still in place on his face.

            “Thanks France! I actually had something I wanted to talk with you about,” he looked over at the other with a hopeful expression toeing off expensive looking dress shoes. “If that is alright that is. I understand if you are busy.”

            France raised an eyebrow at the American. Asking for permission was he? That nervous?

            “ _Non_ , it is fine. I am not busy. Would it be adequate if we moved into the living room?” he asked the other, placing a hand on the small of his back. _So close to choice groping material._

            America moved out of his arms length with a huge grin. “That sounds great man.” _And yet, so far._

* * *

 

            France gazed at the other with a widening grin. “And you would like me to help you with this because?”

            America’s blush got even worse than the moment prior. His face was practically glowing like a stop light by this point and France was enjoying every moment of it. The other fidgeted, not meeting France’s eyes. He mumbled something out looking down at his feet.

            “Hmm, sorry what was that?”

            “I’m a virgin alright!?” he bellowed out before covering up his mouth with both hands. His blush extended to his ears and neck within seconds. France was willing himself not to laugh; it was the last thing the boy needed to hear.

            “Yes, but I do not see why you want my help.”

            France was going to milk this for all it was worth. All the while America quite literally deflated into the chair he was sitting in, chin touching his chest. “It’s Arthur’s and my own anniversary in a week and I don’t know what to do okay? You always go off about ‘ah more’ and shit so I thought you’d be able to help me,” he sniffed in indignation. “But I _guess_ not.”

            France held up a hand before humming. “Oh no, I can help you. I just don’t know why you would come to me,” he paused leaning forward on his hands. “You know very well Arthur isn’t a _vierge_ and if you were to make _amour_ he does know what to do. Is it your pride then? Not wanting to someone smaller to top? Because I can assure you there is nothing wrong with that, for height does not necessarily affect dick size.”

            America spluttered seeming to choke on air. “No! No, no, no. That’s not it,” his voice rose in pitch as the sentence went on. He took in a deep breath sitting up once more. “I sort of have this… secret.”

            France nodded, “, and?”

            “Well it’s a secret! But,” he paused again biting his bottom lip. “I am afraid if people find out I’ll be treated differently.”

            “How so?” France pressed hoping to pry some information out of the young blond.

            “It’s just, something I’ve always hidden. People think I am a certain _thing_ I guess?” he let out a huff running a hand over his face. “And if they found any different, they wouldn’t treat me the same and a lot of people might hate me.”

            America had whispered out the last part in such sadness. France’s heart made a little ‘ _ping’_ in his chest. “I do not believe they would _Amérique_ , one secret can’t be that bad.”

            “Not even Mattie knows.”

            France froze for a moment at this. Canada, his Mathieu, knew most every serious thing there was to know about Alfred. They shared the world’s largest unprotected border in today’s time and before the Europeans came to claim the new world they grew up with each other and only each other.

            They told each other almost everything, they had complete trust. Something most countries didn’t have any more.

            “Oh,” was all he murmured after a minute.

            “Yeah.”

            A silence fell over the two of them, both not quite willing to speak. America was fidgeting again. France was thinking. The French nation clicked his tongue, sitting up straight.

            “This secret is obviously important if not even Mathieu knows, however, if _Angleterre_ loves you -truly, truly so- he will accept everything about you. We both know he’s liked you since he first saw you, loved you since you first opened your arms to him back during the First World War. You both had so much sexual tension in the air that went unresolved for decades. You have been dating for a solid year and he adores you,” France paused looking the other over. America was smiling blissfully at France’s words. “I know you deeply care for him, love him even, so that being said; if you don’t want to have sex with him because of this secret he should understand. He won’t push it; you’ll just be in bed the whole night with a heavy cuddling session. Maybe a few kisses and gropes and you’ll both just be happy to be in each other’s arms,” he finally murmured out.

            America opened his mouth once before standing up abruptly. He hugged France tightly around the shoulders. “Thank you.”

            France smiled his hands reaching closer to the others behind. “Of course, anything to help.”

            “Touch my ass and I’ll break your hand dude!” America cheered into his ear. France let out a laugh putting his hands up in fake defeat.

            “Not even one grope?”

            “No.”

            “ _Se il vous plaît?_ ”

            “No!”

* * *

 

            That had been the advice he had given America a week ago. After the boy had left, he felt himself succumb to sadness soon after. England and America had been practically made to be together it seemed. Just like Italy and Germany. Sweden and Finland. Him and Joan.

            His world went dull once more. A week passed with no results, with nothing productive before the sobbing male had shown up on his door.

            Just what had happened between England and America?

* * *

 

            The morning after was the worst. France woke up at eight with America passed out and clinging to his side. There were tear stains on his cheeks again. France managed to wiggle out of his grip making it towards the kitchen. He cooked a light breakfast and coffee.

            Lots of coffee.

            He sat at a stool around the kitchen’s island sipping from his coffee and nibbling on a pastry. America was a mess. It was obvious he needed someone to talk to, needed some consoling. France would provide it.

            Whatever had happened could not have been the boy’s fault.

            The minutes ticked by before there was running water upstairs. It shut off by the time he finished off half of his cup. There was the _‘thump, thump, thump’_ of feet coming down the stairs before America joined him in the kitchen.

            He looked like a walking zombie. His eyes were blood shot and puffy. Red rimmed; just flat out sad. His face was still blotchy from the night before. His clothes were all wrinkled and mucky. As if he had been hit by a semi-truck going eighty miles an hour.

            The worst part was his smile, or his lack of one. America’s face was solemn and blank. It appeared as though he wanted to burst into tears that very moment yet he didn’t. He just grabbed a cup and filled it up. He sat down across from the older nation taking a sip from his own cup. France took a sip soon after.

            A slight light filtered in between the two from open windows as they sipped coffee in silence.  A sigh shattered it.

            “’orry for showing up in the middle of the night France. I’ll leave right away,” he whispered out. It was such a small voice. Such a lonely, lonely voice that France wanted to protect.

            “ _Non,_ it is fine. Stay as long as you’d like,” he paused setting the cup down with a small _‘clink!’_ “In fact, I _insist_ that you stay _Amérique._ ”

            “I don’t wanna intrude on you,” he whispered out again sinking lower onto the seat.

            “You are not. I opened up my home to you, it is perfectly fine. Just,” France reached across gripping the others hand gently, “, what happened?”

            America froze dropping his coffee cup onto the floor. It shattered, sending the little remaining coffee that was inside all across the floor. He began to shake as his face screwed up. France felt another _‘ping’_ inside his chest, similar to the one that he had felt before. France quickly stood up making his way around to the other pulling the other against his chest with a hug. 

            America clung to him with a loud sniffle trying to hold back tears.

            “Want to maybe lie down and talk?” France whispered out running a hand through the others hair. France didn't care about the broken mug. Not now, not when America needed him.

            America nodded leaning in slightly to the others hand. The taller of the two was quickly lead out to the larger couch placed down upon it with complete gentleness. He curled up with his legs tucked underneath him, much like a little kid.

            France grabbed a thick blanket from the closet. He used it to wrap America up around the shoulders climbing under it with him. There were times to be a slight pervert and times not to be. Even he knew that. He quickly took the others hand again with a squeeze of reassurance.

            America remained unresponsive for a moment before squeezing back slightly with a faraway look.

            “I will listen,” was all France offered before going silent. What the other told him was his choice, he had to respect that.

            America gulped before nodding scrubbing at his face. “Okay,” a deep breath, “, okay.”

            He soon began to recount the tale of last night keeping his face completely blank- or as blank as possible.

* * *

 

            America hummed to himself as he adjusted his tie one more time going up the walkway to England’s house. He had reservations set in about an hour from now and Arthur had no idea he was coming. Nice Jones, nice.

            He jumped up the front steps onto the large overhang porch before ringing the doorbell twice.  He usually pounded on the door but today he wanted to be even more of a surprise than usual. He stepped back and hummed to himself an unnamable tune.

            He and Arthur had been going out for a year. A full year, three-hundred and sixty-five days of hugs, kisses, movie nights, cuddle sessions, picnics, and more. Alfred had never felt happier. He got to make Arthur smile, smile all the time with little nose boops and surprise visits. With hugs from behind and walking hand in hand. They both loved each other, he could feel it.

            There was a click from the inside door as Arthur opened it slightly, peering outside. His hair was all rumpled and he was still in his pajamas. America smiled giving him a little wave.

            “Alfred?” he asked opening the door the rest of the way, “, what are you doing here? I thought you were not coming.” The last part was grumbled out. The shorter man kicked the door frame gently with his toe.

            Alfred just smiled holding out a package for the other. “Nah, I just wanted to surprise you. Happy anniversary! I know a year isn’t long for _us_ but, it is a stepping stone, right?” he held his wrapped gift out to the other with a bright smile.

            Arthur froze before opening the door slowly. He reached out for the present with a small smile. “You remembered?”

            “Of course I do Iggs!” was all the other cheered out before grabbing the other into a warm embrace spinning him around a few times.

            “Oi! Do not do that you immature little weasel!” was all the Brit cried out a frown overtaking his features along with his prominent eyebrows dipping down towards his eyes. The American just laughed giving the other an eskimo kiss.

            “We have dinner reservations you know. While I love to see you in your jammies it is not proper attire,” he murmured against the others forehead before kissing it gently. Arthur blushed slightly turning his head away.

            “I can get dressed easily.”

            America smiled letting the other go. “Well alrighty, how about we get jammin’ then,” he paused looking the over, “, and can I watch you get dressed?”

            The other spluttered before slapping the other on the side of the arm. “No, you most certainly cannot,” was all he said before trudging back into the house.

            “I’ll wait out here then man!”

* * *

 

            Alfred stared dreamily at the man across from him. The way the edges of his mouth crinkled slightly as he smiled, how his eyes were alight with warmth, how goddamn hot that suit made him look. _Holy shit, I am going to get a boner I the middle of dinner goddamnit, be cool, be cool!_

“Thank you for taking me out tonight Alfred,” Arthur told him interrupting Alfred’s internal monologue.

            “Anything for you,” was all he said back reaching his hand across the table. He tried to take Arthur’s hand but he just shot him a withering look.

            “Not in public,” was all the Brit said before going back to eating his meal.

            Alfred sighed putting it back in his lap following the others actions by shoving a piece of broccoli into the mouth. They ate in relative silence after that, only the clinking of silverware broke it.

            After a while the waitress brought the check with an awkward smile, “I hope you two enjoyed your evening.”

            “My associate and I did, thank you,” Arthur replied quickly putting the money into the holder before she could walk away. An icy silence descended upon the table afterwards. Alfred looked at the other stricken. “She sounded as though she were homophobic. I was only trying to deter her thoughts Alfred.”

            America just nodded only half believing him. It had already happened before when people didn’t sound forced. He just let out a puff of air staring at his empty plate.

            Neither said anything as they left the restaurant.

* * *

 

            Arthur smiled as he settled down on Alfred’s lap. Both of their suit jackets were off as were shoes and socks. Alfred beamed back at the other handing him the gift once more. “Here you should open it,” he spoke putting his chin on top of the others head.

            The Brit nodded carefully opening the box. It wasn’t too big, so there weren’t too many things it could be. There was a card on top of tissue paper. He opened it with a bright smile. The message _‘Love you so much Arthur! Hope for another year with a place in your heart.’_ made Arthur sight gently.

            America squeezed his sides gently in excitement. England took off the tissue paper before gaping at the box- or what was inside of it. It was a watch. Something simple and elegant, it was perfect.

            “I noticed that the one you currently have is looking a bit worse for wear so I got you a new one. I hope it’s okay,” Alfred told the other burying his face against the back of Arthur’s neck.

            “It is lovely. Thank you Alfred,” he leaned back soon afterwards pressing a kiss to the others cheek. “I do not have a gift for you though, I apologize.”

            “It’s fine man, long as you’re happy.”

            England smiled turning around in the others lap sliding chest to chest. He could feel Alfred’s heartbeat as it started to increase rapidly. He smiled up at the other again with a glint in his eye kissing under the others chin working his way up the jaw line with little nibbles and kisses.

            America’s breath hitched as he quickly put his hands on the other’s shoulders. “Arthur, Arthur wait a second.”

            England frown with a huff but did cease is administrations. “Yes Alfred?”

            “Look,” Alfred paused for a moment closing his eyes. He took a deep breath before nodding to himself, “, we’ve been dating for a year now and you’ve been really patient. And I thank you for that immensely. I just, I just don’t’ think I’m ready. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to say yes I even asked for some advice but I just don’t think I’m ready yet. I still have my own stuff to sort through.”

            Alfred took in a breath looking at the other through half closed eyes. He looked put off, his gaze far away. That lasted a few moments before Arthur snapped out of it frowning.

            “It is about that _secret_ then,” he said. It wasn’t a question it was a statement.

            The American only nodded.

            “Do you just not trust me?”

            Alfred froze. “No, no, no, I do trust you, I do; I just can’t tell you this.”

            “Why not?”

            “No one knows Arthur, not even Mattie I just; you’d hate me for it I know you would. I don’t want to do anything right now,” Alfred’s voice got quieter and quieter as he spoke his head lowering.

            Arthur let out a frustrated noise pushing back off of the others lap. He sat up and got off of the bed. “Why can you not trust me Alfred? I have not done anything to deter your trust in a long, long while,” he began to rant at the other with furious hand motions to accompany his words.           

            Alfred just began to shrink in on himself tears beginning to form in his eyes. He didn’t voice out that Arthur _had_ in fact done that to him. That he never held his hand in public. That he almost never said I love you back. That he would make little comments about Alfred’s life style. They hurt, all of the little things hurt; but Alfred just wanted Arthur to be happy. Like any hero in shinning armor he just smiled and hugged the other closer, kissed him a bit longer.

            Alfred looked at Arthur with sad eyes. This isn’t want he wanted to happen. Shouldn’t the other understand? Why was he so angry?

            Arthur looked him over as well, eyes narrowing. His breaths were slightly quicker than they were earlier with his chest slightly rising and falling underneath the dress shirt.

            “You won’t even allow me to see you in any states of undress any more Alfred! Am I really that bad?” he asked with a slight snarl. “Am I not good enough, is that it?”

            America shook his head eyes going wide as saucers. “No! Arthur you are amazing why would you think tha-” he was swiftly cut off.

            “Is there someone else? Is that your little secret?” he finally hissed out with clenched fists.

            “No, you are the only one Arthur, please; I just don’t want to have sex. How is there anything wrong with that?”

            There was a stony silence as America reached for the shorter man. He didn’t want to see him angry he really didn’t.

            “Get out.”

            “What?” was all Alfred squeaked out as the other turned on his heel starting to walk out of the room.

            “I said; Get. Out,” England growled out at the other eyes flaring with rage. “Get out, get out, and get out! I do not want to see your face if this is how you are going to act!”

            “Arthur wait, I’m sorry.”

            “No you are not!”

* * *

 

            France listened in complete silence as America broke down crying by that point in the story.  He furiously wiped at his own eyes before France could.

            “What happened next _cher_.”

            Alfred sniffled biting his lip for a moment before beginning again, “I tried to reach out to him again. Tried to talk it through but,” a deep shuttering intake of breath”, he slapped me.”

            France stiffened his jaw clenching harshly.

            “He kept screaming and he threw the watch at me and I ran. I somehow got here,” he finished off head dipping down low. His shoulders began to shake slightly as more and more tears slipped from his eyes.

            France shifted quickly taking both of the others cheeks into his hands wiping the salt water off of them once again. He tugged America down so his head was resting on France’s chest. The French nation lied back draping the blanket over America’s back. The superpower let his arms fall over the sides of the smaller man’s body as he let out another sob.

            France just pet through the other’s hair allowing him to sob into his chest. Sometimes you just needed to get it out. All the while he was frowning slightly thinking back to what America had told him.

            As far as the relationship between England and America went they seemed to have been on thin ice the whole time. When the two of them had been at conferences and such Arthur had not minded America hugging or kissing him then. He tried to think though, what about when they went out to dinner afterwards? When they went on lunch break somewhere in the city?

            While true Arthur hadn’t flat out rejected anything he looked uneasy, especially when humans were around. Most people had just written it off at that; he was nervous a lot of people could see why. But was there more to it?

            Had Arthur just been playing Alfred? Had he just wanted sex and when he didn’t get it he broke up with the boy?

            He shook his head slightly. Had he wanted an easy lay Arthur wouldn’t have had to wait a whole year before giving up; he wouldn’t have waited a year. So what was it? It was obvious it had not been the _healthiest_ relationship ever that much was obvious. How come America didn’t say anything then?

            Why would Arthur do this to someone, spend so much time on something just to throw it away? Unless he had been after America’s virginity. It was no secret that America was. Everyone knew that. Most in the beginning of the century had thought he may have lost it during the Cold War but both he and Russia had just laughed until their faces turned purple after Italy had asked one day.

            If that had been what England was after, France would not be surprised. He had done things similar in the past and unlike before there were not as many ripe nations for the picking. America was probably one of the only nations left who was physically over the age of eighteen who had not had sex yet. Him being older than eighteen for about one hundred years didn’t help.

            If that had been the case, what was he supposed to say? Supposed to do? _‘Oh sorry America, but in reality England probably never loved you, he was only in it for your dick and ass.’_

            That wouldn’t go over well, and yet at the same time why did this happen? It happened because of a secret. A secret that no one knew and yet knew it existed. America’s secret was something he wanted to know, something he needed to know.

            There couldn’t be many reasons why America wouldn’t want to have sex. Perhaps he was asexual? That didn’t make sense though; Canada had said Alfred did, ah, _‘get stiff.’_

            France’s frown deepened a bit as he looked down at the boy on his chest. _Boy_ , perhaps he wasn’t…?

            He quickly did a double take seeing the other sound asleep with his cheek squished against the spot over his heart. His breaths were still uneven and choppy, as well as tears tracks splayed out over his chest and down the rest of his face. France leaned down kissing the other on the top of his head.

            He guessed they’d be here for a while.

* * *

 

            America had been staying with France for a week now. France didn’t really mind. It made him forget about his painting, it made Alfred not focus on England. It was nice to have the company. They’d have breakfast together. Alfred would wander away to read while France did paperwork. They’d meet up for each meal and talk.

            It was calm. It was mundane, it was soon broken.

            “You know _Amérique_ , the G8 summit is in two days,” France commented at lunch. Alfred froze his fork dropping to the table. “If you want,” France continued setting his own utensils on the oak of the table, “, I can give you my own notes once I come back. You may stay here if you wish.”

            “You, you really mean that?” he asked staring at the glass of water he was given. France nodded with a small smile.

            “ _Oui_ , you may stay here. I don’t think I’ll stay at the meeting for too long myself,” he told the other with a small flip of the hand. _I just wish to talk to Arthur, maybe punch him across the face._

            “Thank you,” the American murmured to the other a small smile appearing on his face. The first one in a week. _‘Ping!’_

 France swallowed once before nodding. “It is perfectly fine; would you like me to perhaps get in contact with _Mathieu_ to see if he can bring over some of your belongings? I only have so many clothes he left over that can fit you.”

            Alfred nodded. “Tell him to grab my 3DS; I want to beat the Pokemon league.”

            France just let out a laugh seeing the twinkle of determination in the boy’s eyes. It was progress, a small progression true, but it was something. “Alright, I will.”

* * *

          

            France walked into the meeting hall with a frown. He would get America’s stuff from Canada and then shove England out of the window from the fifteenth story. He would then proceed to return home, meeting be damned. He wasn’t in the mood.

            He waved over at Canada who was talking to South Italy, Romano if he remembered correctly. He usually didn’t come to these because his brother came instead but that wasn’t any of his business. “ _Mathieu!_ Papa is here!” he called out putting a smile on his face for his former colony.

            Canada turned around gazing at the French man. He shot back a small nervous smile with a little wave. Romano made a face speaking rapidly to the other before booking it in the opposite direction.

            “Ah, did I scare him away?”

            Canada just nodded his head once with a sigh, “Yeah, don’t worry about it though. He just thinks you’re a raging pervert.”

            “Wherever could he get that idea from?”

            “No clue.”

            They both stared at each other before bursting into laughter. France put a hand on the others shoulder covering up his mouth. God, he was glad the boy had developed some sense of humor.

            “ _Merci_ , I needed that,” he looked at the duffle bag the northern nation was carrying with one raised eyebrow, “Is that..?”

           “Yes. Is he okay?” Canada asked voice laced with concern as he handed the bag over.

            “I don’t think so, but I am giving him time. That is all you can do,” he replied to the other slinging the bag over his shoulder with a small grunt.

            Canada nodded before smiling slightly. “Just tell him I’m here if he needs me okay? I’ll be logged onto Skype whenever I get the chance.”

            “ _Oui, merci_ Mathieu.”

            “Of course.”

            France nodded to the younger nation once more before making his way to the meeting room, Canada and his bear trailing behind him. The meeting room was a short walk away with Japan standing outside speaking with north Italy.

            “ _Ciao_ big brother France!”

            “ _Bonjour_ Feli, how are you today?”

            “I am doing pretty well, everyone else is inside so whenever you guys are ready we can start,” he replied back with a wide happy grin. Japan bowed slightly to them both before making his way inside Feliciano trailing behind him.

            France frowned again taking a deep breath, _now or never._

            The last two entered the meeting room with everyone else already having been sitting down. America’s chair was empty; everyone seemed to be waiting for him to show up just as much as they were waiting for France and Canada.

            “There you two are,” Germany spoke up from his spot next to both Italy and Japan, “, and do you have any clue where America is?”

            “ _Oui_ , he is feeling rather ill. He will not be able to make it.”

            Out of the corner of his eye he was England’s eyes narrow slightly, no doubt on the duffle bag containing America’s clothing and other belongings.

            “However, I cannot stay for too long either. I only showed up to grab this and do something quickly,” he continued before Germany could comment shaking the duffle bag a big for emphasis. “ _Angleterre_ ,” he called out turning to his old enemy.

            His eyes shifted as did his whole body, “Yes Frog?”

            France simply smiled as he walked over to the other stopping only a foot in front of him. He eyed the other over before nodding slightly. “Your face is looking rather pale.”

            “I do not see how that is relev-” _SLAP!_

            England looked taken aback for a moment as a bright red hand mark made its way to his cheek a few moments after the hit. France was glaring at him with murder in his eyes; no one had seen that expression on the French nation, if at all, since his revolutions.

            “You are a filthy excuse of a man and I hope you get what is coming to you, now if you’ll excuse _moi,_ ” he paused taking a step back from the still frozen Brit, “, I am not feeling well. I believe I am going to return home. Canada, if you could please take notes for me.”

            He nodded once to the mentioned nation strutting out of the room with well placed leg and arm movements. He was done; he had a nation to fix.

            And a secret to find out.

* * *

 

            When he returned to his home he found America in the sunroom. He was staring intently at the paining with his head tilted slightly. France walked up behind him placing a hand on his shoulder -he had been too quiet. America practically jumped out of his skin with a girly shriek spinning around to face the other.

            He stared at France. France stared at him. A blush immediately erupted onto his face spreading to both his ears within seconds. France let out a laugh covering his mouth with both hands. America let out a whine sitting back down.

            “Fuck you man! That wasn’t funny,” he cried out jabbing a finger in France’s direction.

            “ _Non_ , it was _un exploit incroyable,_ ” he laughed out patting the others back gently.

            “How is that an incredible feat?” he asked flinching from France’s touch only slightly.

            France paused looking at the other with an amused expression. “I thought you couldn’t speak French?”

            America puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. “I can understand it, my pronunciation is shit.”

            “Perhaps I could help you?” France offered picking the bag up and handing it to the other.

            “Yeah maybe… did he pack my DS?”

            “You know _Mathieu_ wouldn’t forget.”

            “Wanna see my kickass team?” America asked rummaging around in the blue bag probably completely destroying its organization.

            France smiled at the other as another _‘ping’_ went off in his chest. _Baby steps, baby steps._

            “Why not?”

* * *

 

            The next morning America was back in front of the painting with his mug off coffee firmly in his grasp. He sipped it every now and again otherwise he barely blinked or moved.

            “It isn’t very impressive you know, I have better ones you could look at,” France told him sitting down next to the American. Alfred only hummed blinking a few times before looking over at the other.

            “Do you have any white paint?”

            France nodded.

            “Can I use it?”

            Another nod. France stood up going over to his larger closet containing paints and paintbrushes. He grabbed some white for the other walking it back out with a few brushes of different sizes.  America took them looking both the paint and brushes over for a while.

            France got up and left him to his privacy.

            He didn’t see him until he brought in dinner at eight. America had not come out for lunch or dinner yet. He stopped dead, breath hitching when he saw the previously desolate canvas.

            It was covered in bright white flecks everywhere that seemed to form patterns and yet be completely unique. Some splashes of dulled down colors were also added to make it appear like smoke or a different colored liquid in water.

            It was the night sky, a clear beautiful sky that showed the inner depths of space as though someone had seen it up close. Without the cloud cover -without a telescope- just right there in front of them like a gift. He looked around for the American finding him curled up on the couch asleep.

            A smile came to his face quickly throwing a blanket over the other taking off his glasses gently.

            He looked back over at the painting with a small smile. _Progress indeed._

* * *

 

            “ _Amérique_ , you are getting harder and harder to find now a days,” France told the other nudging his side gently. “Perhaps we should get you a leash?”

            “Alfred,” was all he said to the other.

            France paused tilting his head slightly, “ _Quoi?_ ”

            “You can call me Alfred. That is my name after all.”

            France stared at the other for a moment before smiling wide. The other nervously looked up at him shooting him a small smile. France sat down next to the other on the grass peering over at him. He was looking out to the sky with an expression of longing.

            “Alright, you may call me Francis then, or _Majestueux Seigneur_. Whichever rolls off of your tongue better.”

            Alfred snorted slapping the other gently on the arm. “Yeah uh huh, as soon as Germany agrees my super robot ideas are the best thing he has ever heard in his _fucking life_ I’ll call you that.”

            France just let out a chuckle shaking his head. _Progress._

* * *

 

            America knocked on the study door with quick small raps. He was going to do it, he was going to tell the other. He had to. _He had to._

            “ _Entrer!_ ” was called through the door before America opened it.

            France was sitting at his office chair with reading glasses placed on top of the bridge of his nose. His hair was tied back into a low hanging ponytail and his body was wrapped up in a large fluffy blanket. There were multiple papers scattered across the wooden desk and behind him the painting was hanging on the wall.

            “Ah Alfred, what can I do for you?” he asked setting his pen down. There were little ink blotches on his hands. America’s face flushed slightly as he felt a twitch along his back. He shook his head a bit before sitting down across from the other.

            “I, I want to tell you something,” he murmured.

            France’s eyebrows rose on his head as he let his hands wrap around themselves on top of his desk. “Your secret you mean?” he asked apprehensively.

            Alfred nodded looking at the floor. “I think I can trust you but, I don’t want you to hate me too.”

            “I won’t I promise,” the way he spoke both could hear the sincerity. America nodded before taking a deep breath.

            “Alright well, I guess. Everyone thinks I am… normal I guess. I am still a virgin, as you are aware, and there is a reason why. I have been hiding something for a long time. You see the truth is that I-” France smiled letting out a small sigh.

            “I understand completely.”

            America stopped speaking going quiet for a moment before making a noise in the back of his throat. “W-wait you know? How?”

            “I did some guessing from what you had told me before. Don’t worry others are like you or used to be,” Francis told the other with a small smile. “You aren’t alone.”

            “I’m not? There are other people -nations- like me? Really?”

            “Well there were. Most of them ended up realizing it wasn’t a big deal.”

            “They didn’t mind it?” America asked with a giddy expression.

            “ _Non_ , they just showed their true self.”

            “As in showed other people?”

            France nodded with a small smile. “ _Oui_ , and it turned out alright in the end for them all. Just look at Miss Hungary, she is perfectly fine,” he explained to the American with a small smile.

            “She was like I am? Really?”

            Another nod.

            “Wow, I never realized.”

            France looked over at the American across from him. Alfred looked happy and relieved. _The poor soul_ , France thought, _he has no clue._ “It is the twenty first century Alfred; people are getting much better with this sort of thing.”

            “Oh.”

            “ _Oui, oui._ So there is no reason to hide it anymore Alfred. It is alright if you are _une fille_ not _un garcon_ ,” France began to speak to the other with a reassuring smile. “It made sense to hide it because you’ve always wanted freedom and that was never something women had but I can assure you there is no reason for you to hide it anymore.”

            America’s smile fell away into an expression of confusion. “Wait, what?”

            France paused, “Oh, I mean if you do identify as a man there is no problem with that either, none at all Alfred.”

            “No, no I am still a guy! I have a dick, dude, that isn’t what I was going to say.”

            France stopped talking after that looking quizzically at the other. “But then, wait, what did you think I was talking about?”

            “Francis I am not hiding my gender. I have wings.”

            “ _Q-quoi?_ ”

* * *

 

            They were beautiful. They were the most beautiful things France had ever seen. They stood resting proudly against the others back pure white flecked with golden blonde on a few of them here and there. Wings. _America had wings._

            Wings that he could use to fly, use to protect himself and others with. Wings that made his lightly freckled back strong and lean. Wings that made him an angel.

            “ _Belle_ , they are _incroyablement belle_ ,” France murmured reaching a hand out. It was shaking slightly in the air. He stopped it from moving swallowing once. “May I touch them?”

            Alfred nodded hands twitching in uncertainty. France smiled reassuringly reaching out with more steady hands than before gently touching one of the feathers. He soon ran his hands gently through the right wing in amazement. It was warm with life and felt so soft.

            Alfred shifted in unease in front of the smaller nation folding the wings closer to his back. His posture was hunched over in on himself. He seemed uneasy, he seemed scared. Francis pet the tops of them a few more times before letting his hands drop into his lap.

            America usually tucked them up and close to his body concealing them away in binding. He wore baggy clothes to compensate, to make sure no one would find out. France let out a small sigh, such a hard existence.

            “Why?” was all he asked in a small voice.

            America stilled looking back over at the other with a jerky head movement. “Why what?”

            “Why did you tell me of all people, of all nations?”

            America looked at the other for a few more moments before letting out a breath. He shifted so he was facing the other before his shoulders pitched forward again his feathers quickly ruffling all over with a small noise. France struggled not to make a noise one would make at an adorable baby.

            “You,” he bit his lip, “, you, I feel I can trust you.”

            “Why?”

            “This whole month I’ve been here you just tried to help me no matter how you needed to, no matter what it was you tried. You’ve put up with me and you are being a really great friend when I needed one -need one. So thank you Francis, I just hope you’ll keep this between us I am not ready to tell others really,” was all the American said his voice beginning to grow smaller towards the end.

            France nodded a gleam appearing in his eyes. “Consider this our secret alright, _mon ami_?”

            America nodded with a grateful smile. “ _Oui, merci beaucoup_.”

            “ _Vous êtes les bienvenus._ ”

* * *

 

            “When did you get them?” Francis asked running his hands over the lower feathers.

            It had been two weeks since Alfred showed him. Since Alfred had shown Francis this gift -his beautiful wonderful gift that no one deserved to know other than Alfred and now him. He had trusted him, trusted him with something so delicate.

            _‘Ping!’_

            “They began growing in after I broke away from England,” was all he replied leaning in to the others touch.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. At first I thought this happened to other countries ya know?” he spoke up with a slight edge to his voice. “So I thought I may ask around, look around really. No one seemed to that I knew of. Most people I knew were also under control though so I thought that hey, maybe the nation needs to be free,” he paused looking over at the other.

            “I thought England had them. I thought you did, at first. But I was never able to prove anything until I finally visited Japan for the first time. His clothes were too skin tight at the time because of the thin robes. He didn’t have them.”

            France leaned up against the other slightly was he listened to the others story. It was interesting to say the least.

            “So then I thought that maybe it was my form of government ‘cause I was really the only one who had democracy at the time. So I figured that maybe if others had this too, they’d get wings,” he stopped with a small wistful smile. “I thought I’d be doing everyone a favor because of it but no one got them because of that either.”

            “ _Non_ , no one did,” France spoke quietly echoing the others thoughts.

            “So then I thought, maybe they need to be strong enough to support wings. I was pretty strong when I was a kid so maybe if someone with equal strength as me and the same government as me would grow’em too,” he winced at his own words. “This occurred to me right at the end of World War Two and well…”

            “After that you entered the Cold War.”

            America nodded, “I couldn’t just come out and ask Russia to switch government to see if he’d grow wings like me. If it didn’t work then he’d know my secret. So I had to take my chances. It’s a good thing I won that thing. But even then, it didn’t matter in the end.”

            “You are unique Alfred, no reason to be sad about no one having them as well,” France told the other with a pat to the shoulder. “They make you one of a kind, as I believe the expression goes.”

            “It isn’t unique it’s just weird. Really, really weird.”

            “No it is not,” France urged out gripping the other’s shoulders, “, your wings are a gift that cannot be matched by any other human or nation alike Alfred. You have an ability that gives you the freedom you crave so much, have craved your entire life. Some might find it odd, true, but you should believe just as I do; it is nothing less than a work of art those wings on your back. They are so heavenly crafted to be able to float up into the clouds. They have been created because they _are_ you Alfred, every little thing about them is _you._ ”

            America’s cheeks took on a pink tint after the other had finished. His wings fluttered a bit as the span opened up slightly towards the other. They twitched one more time before going still. A silence broke out in-between the two before the largest smile France had seen in the past two months lit up the American’s face.

            Alfred scrubbed at his eyes for a second with a small laugh. “Man I’ve been crying too much lately, stop saying such sappy shit.”

            “When Romano begs me to have a one night stand with him.”

            Then America really and truly laughed for the first time in forever.

* * *

 

            By mid spring Alfred had made his own space in Francis’ home. He always had a few pairs of clothes, a tooth brush, a brush for his feathers, and a giant body pillow. Said body pillow was used so he could sleep with his wings open without worrying about them being injured.  Just like now.

            The American had fallen asleep on the floor in the sunroom in a patch of light. The pillow was wrapped under one arm allowing his arms not to get in the way of anything. His wings were stretched out to their full length and France felt touched.

            The boy trusted him enough to do this. To feel comfortable being shirtless and have his wings -that actually were rather sensitive at the bases- be cast out around on the floor. His chest rose and fell at even intervals. It was calming. It was one of the cutest things France had ever seen.

            Said nation sat at a stool a few feet away penciling in a drawing of a figure. He was trying to capture Alfred in a painting just as he was now. He was so open and vulnerable yet he still trusted France. He trusted ‘the leech that fucks anything with a pulse.’ His paintings had been brighter lately. Brighter and more put together than since before the World Wars. He drew the clear open skies during the day and at sunset, cityscapes with bright flashing lights, a smiling boy with freckled cheeks, blue eyes, and bright wheat colored hair whose enthusiasm could be felt rolling of the page in waves- the happy things.

            He drew the things that made him happy. Te things that made him feel little _‘Ping’_ s go off in his chest.

            He liked those little pings more and more every day.

            France froze for a moment hearing Alfred shift and mumble out in his sleep. His feathers ruffled up all over before the body went still with small little noises escape his lips with every exhale. France made a small noise in the back of his throat setting the pencil down.

_Mon dieu, mon dieu, that shouldn’t be legal._

            He tiptoed over to the sleeping mass of feathers before getting down to the floor next to the other. He scooted closer to the other until he was resting gently under the wingspan. It tickled his arms slightly as he shifted, it was cozy. It was safe. America let out another noise grabbing the other by the waist dragging him close to his chest.

            France let out a noise of protest as he was used to replace the kicked away body pillow now being cradled to the American’s chest. The wings curled around both of their bodies actively trapping him in the process. For a split second America’s eyes seemed to open just a sliver with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

_Got you._

            They closed just as soon as they were opened even breaths returning. France just sighed tucking his arms up against the others chest so they didn’t fall asleep. It was like a warm cocoon, a warm fuzzy cocoon that was moving and alive.

            France could get used to this.

* * *

 

            America started to go back to meetings by late spring. With a smile plastered on his face he hugged Canada until a small cracking noise could be heard from the other’s spine. He hadn’t seen the other since midwinter, and it was obvious he missed his twin. It was different than seeing text from the other through Skype that was for sure.

            “How have you been Alfred?”

            “I’ve been doing good Mattie, how ‘bout you?” Alfred asked back with a bright smile. It was still slightly duller than before but it was something.

            “Pretty good, pretty good. I’ve missed our monthly movie nights though,” Canada told the other shooting a look over at France. A silent question.

            “Oh sorry, I’ve been staying with Francis for a while so I haven’t been able to make it. Maybe next month alright?” he responded to the other with a quick bounce to his step as they continued to walk towards the meeting room. France trailed behind them smiling softly to himself.

            “Is that so?”

            “Yeah! It is, hey actually, Francis why are you hanging back there? You can walk next to us ya know,” Alfred turned his head around with a small frown.

            “You both have such long legs; it is hard for papa to keep up. Perhaps if one of you were to carry me,” France sighed dramatically blinking his eyes a few times. There was a moment of silence before he felt his feet lifting off of the floor. He let out a squeak as he was hoisted fireman style over Alfred’s shoulder.

            “Sure old man!”

            Canada snorted covering up his mouth with a hand muttering an ‘oh my god’ under his breath. Both France and America heard it however. Alfred laughed and France let out a sound of slight huffiness.

            The three of them walked into the meeting room that way and no one said a word. England shot them a few looks but America wasn’t even looking at the thick eye browed nation. He was talking to France and Canada as he set the French nation back down on the floor. After a few minutes the meeting was called to begin. Canada sat down next to England, France sat down next to Canada, and America sat down next to France unaware of his two companion’s goal to keep him away from England the whole meeting.

            The meeting proceeded rather easily that day with no ideas being shouted out by America, he seemed to be busy with taking notes. He was actually passing notes back and forth with France in French, generally commenting on everyone else in the meeting, other than England.

            Halfway through the nations broke for a lunch break resulting North Italy to sprint out of the room wanting to escape from Germany because he didn’t want to have paste for lunch he wanted wurst. _Wurst._

            America got up and stretched allowing his back to crack a few times in the process. It felt good to be productive for once in the last few months. He had been being active as about a hibernating bear and a boring meeting is just what he needed.

            Who was he kidding, he was pissed off already and he wanted to go back to his patch of sunlight in Francis’ sunroom.

            “Hey you guys can go on ahead, I’m gonna set up for my presentation. I’ll be down in the restaurant in a few minutes ‘kay?” he shot over to the other two still in the room.

            Both of the other blonds nodded before walking towards the exit. “Don’t get lost on your way over!” France called teasingly over his shoulder.

            America rolled his eyes sticking his tongue out at the other. He was met with the meeting door clicking shut. America walked over to the computer shoving his thumb drive into the port waiting for it to load. Letting out a hum he looked around the room. “You can come out England. I know you’re there,” was all he said focusing on the computer screen once more.

            There was a small shift before dull taps could be heard making the way across the room towards the superpower. The Brit cleared his throat trying to get the other to look up.

            “I’m listening.”

            “I am sorry for how I acted.”

            America looked up at the other once for a moment before snorting. “Mhmm.”

            England was taken aback for a moment before he smoothed his face over with a smile. “I was wondering if perhaps we could catch up over lunch? I could give you a proper apology then and-” America interrupted him with his eyes narrowed.

            “If you were sorry you would have chased after me. If you were sorry you would have tracked me down as fast as possible. If you were sorry you would have called me at least once. Please don’t give me this bullshit of being sorry when we both clearly know it’s a lie.”

            England spluttered his fists clenching at his sides.

            “I don’t want to be rude to you England, but what you did is irreversible. You can’t do that to someone and expect them to bounce back just like that, especially with the way you went about it,” America explained taking the thumb drive out of the port shoving it into his back pocket.

            “America-”

            “Save it England. Please just leave me alone,” was all he muttered pushing past the other. He could feel his wing straining against his shirt and jacket. He was getting riled up and soon they would pop up in agitation.

            He needed to calm down and fast.

            America made his way outside to the street with little trouble. He looked around the street of Berlin quickly before making his way towards the restaurant France had picked out earlier in the day. He walked towards it with long even strides face blank. He soon saw both France and Canada in the window of the place they were going to be eating at. They were talking to each other rapidly, perhaps in French.

            Canada noticed him right away already sensing his twin’s mood.

            Alfred sat down across from both of them head down facing his lap.

            “Alfred what happened?” France asked the other with concern. He reached across and took the others hand interlacing the fingers. Alfred looked up at the hands together with a stricken expression.

            “Al?” Canada piped up from the side placing a hand on his shoulder.

            “It’s nothing. I just ran into England. He tried to _apologize_.”

            “Did he,” Francis murmured giving Alfred’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s a bit late for that _non?_ ”

            Alfred just kept staring at the interlocked hands blinking every once in a while. _The person who I cherished and loved at first wouldn’t but now a friend will?_ He frowned slightly eyebrows furrowing together.

            France watched the others face intently. He was slipping through emotions rather quickly. His jaw and shoulders were strained. His wings hurt.

            “Perhaps we should just catch a train and ride back to my home Alfred,” Francis spoke up looking over at Canada, “, if you could cover for us long enough to be on a moving train, it would help.”

            Canada nodded giving his unresponsive brother a hug. “Yeah I can do that. Just go back home with papa and get a nap in alright Al?”

            Alfred nodded numbly. France stood up and led him outside making his way to find a cab. The only thing Alfred registered was that he was still holding his hand.

* * *

 

            Alfred silently trudged into France’s house toeing off his shoes quickly before flopping over on the closest couch. He didn’t care about anything right now, he just needed to rest. He needed to clear his head.

            He could faintly hear France muttering in French above him. His body was soon moved from the couch upstairs to the main bedroom. His suit jacket tie and shirt were quickly taken off before his under shirt was folded and placed on the side table. He mumbled a thanks unwrapping the binding around his wings and letting them flop out against the bed.

            He fell over onto his stomach with a small grunt shifting around a bit until he was comfortable.

            There was some rustling going on around him, sounded like fabric, but his brain was already clouding. The bed dipped next to him as someone crawled under his right wing grabbing his hand and gently squeezing it once more.

            “I am here when you need me alright Alfred?” Francis whispered from besides him placing a small kiss on his forehead.

            Alfred nodded sleepily before grabbing the other and hugging him to his chest again. He formed a small wing cocoon around just the two of them pressing his face against the top of France’s head. He seemed to be wearing something silky on his torso, probably pajamas if the rustling earlier had been anything to go by.

            “You can take a nap okay? I’ll be right here, _je promets_.”

            “Mmm…” was all Alfred managed to say, or the only sound that came from his throat before he succumbed to sleep. France’s hair smelled like lavender and honey. He liked that a lot.

            He hoped he could do this more often.

* * *

 

            The first few weeks of summer had been bearable. It was just a bit warmer with longer days filled with sunshine and bugs. A lot of bugs. But neither Alfred nor Francis minded too much. It meant Alfred asked Francis to make lemonade for lunch, maybe if they could make some popsicles together because see could make a mean homemade strawberry treat frozen on a stick.

            After the first few weeks it got to be a lot. Alfred’s government was still fine with him staying with France for ‘external negotiations’ so he was still in the house that was being filtered by multiple fans and open windows instead of his D.C. or Manhattan apartments that had air conditioning.

            He didn’t mind too much in all honesty. He didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing his wings here so he didn’t _need_ to wear a shirt. He also didn’t need to wear pants so here he was on semi cold wooden flooring splayed out on his stomach in only shorts.

            France didn’t mind at all seeing the other walk around with barely any clothing on. His freckles were coming back slowly all down his shoulders, cheeks, back, and legs. It was cute, really cute. Then you had the toned body those super cute freckles were laying on and it made Francis really conflicted. Whomever said America was fat was wrong, so, so wrong.

            It was all muscle; that much was obvious.

            Every now and again Alfred’s wings would flutter around a few times creating a nice wind cooling off both occupants in the room. Other than that they both sat around in the sweltering heat, Alfred sometimes dropping ice cube on his lower back with a content sigh.

            “Hey,” he spoke up from the floor looking over at the French nation who was reading a novel. France looked over to him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you have a stream nearby here or somethin’?” he asked.

            “Ah, I believe so… why?”

            Alfred smiled sitting up, “Well it would cool us both down really easily. How far away is it?”

            “Maybe a quarter of one of your miles,” Francis replied back placing his book down.

            “Hmm, that’s easily a walking distance. How about we head out there with like a picnic and stuff?” he told the other his idea with a hopeful smile.

            France pursed his lips in fake contemplation. It would be a good way to cool of for a little while, plus having a picnic was always nice. “Sure why not?”

            The smile that grew on the American’s face was priceless. France felt another ping go off in his chest, so he just smiled back.

            “Sweet! Lets pack up a blanket, some towels, and food.”

            Alfred was soon rushing around the house trying to find the items needed for an awesome picnic while France prepared picnic food. Sandwiches, cookies, bottled water- the usual. They were soon both off and on the move through Francis’ property. It only took them a few minutes to reach the flowing water, and at said sight Alfred let out a whoop placing the items he was carrying on the ground, as well as his glasses, before booking it towards the water.

            He leaped in with a loud splash the front half of his body was submerged underwater. His wings fanned out resting on the surface of the water like the leaves did in autumn.

            France laughed at the others enthusiasm laying down in the shade of a tree instead not setting up the food quite yet. Alfred sat up in the water shaking his hair out a bit and fluffing out his feathers. He looked over at France with a devious smile picking up a handful of water flinging it at him.

            There was a small water hitting skin noise as France spluttered shooting forward onto his feet. Alfred had hit him dead center in the chest, ruining his shirt. France looked over at the cackling blond with a glint in his eye.

            “You want to play dirty is that it?” he asked his ‘terror inducing’ laugh beginning to make itself known. France lunged at America _‘honhonhon’_ ing the whole time.

            They both got into a bit of a fight with pokes, prods, and splashes of water as Alfred’s wings flared out a few times trying to get the other to back off. It was silly, really.  France jabbed the other on the stomach with a finger hearing the other let out a squeak. He grinned.

            “I see I have found your weakness,” was all he said before pushed the other down on his ass sitting square in his lap. “Surrender now and you will be spared.”

            Alfred just narrowed his eyes at the other trying to wiggle out of his grip. France was pressing his weight down on America’s lower thighs not allowing him to move.

            “If that is how it shall be,” was all he said before he poked the other rapidly on the stomach watching him dissolve into giggles. It was cute, so cute. Alfred batted at the others hands trying to wriggle away.

            “N-no stop! You fiend!”

            “ _Jamais!_ ”

            Alfred let out a few more giggles before grabbing the others arms wrapping his wings around the both of them encasing France and himself in a little damp shelter. He let out a few more before flicking the other gently on the nose with a free hand. “Asshat.”

            “Ahh but that was _vraiment mignon_ ,” France cooed out poking the others cheek.

            Alfred grinned. “Oh, it was? Well I guess some revenge is in order then. I’ll see how cute it is first hand.”

            Francis hadn’t truly laughed so freely in years.

* * *

 

            Alfred sat outside on his birthday facing the sky. France had made him crepes with millions of toppings to choose from for him and had gotten him a few shirts that buttoned up in the back, allowing him to leave some of them open to let his wings out.

            It was nice and simple, something America was thankful for. No huge party, no millions of colored presents and loud fireworks. Just smiles and good food. He let out a sigh stretching his arms out a bit more. He longed for the sky.

            France made a little whistling noise behind him rubbing his hand on top of the other’s hair much like one would a dog or cat. He ruffled it before plopping down next to the other letting out a breath. “There is no one for a long while Alfred, you can fly if you’d like.”

            “I just want to be careful.”

            Francis nodded patting him on the shoulder. “I know, but it’s fine. I can assure you,” he smiled at the other. “Just go, I’ll be watching from down here alright?”

            Alfred exhaled out of his nose before nodding. “Yeah, yeah!” was all he shouted before bolting up to his feet. “Just you watch!”

            France watched as the boy began to run picking up speed rather quickly before he leaped up wings extending then flapping down with a powerful gust of wind expanding out. He shot up a few feet and continued the wings movement until he was high in the sky cheering and laughing as he spun and looped in the air.

            The French nation smiled, eyes twinkling, as the other kept rolling and tumbling with graceful movements. It was powerful, those wings held power that pushed America past anyone else.

            He gripped the camera on his left side taking off the lens cap with his other free hand. Soon Francis was taking pictures of the flying American for a model later. He was going to paint again, something nice, something dazzling.

            “Hey Francis watch out!” the other cheered dipping low down to the Earth only a foot or so above the other nations head. He quickly ducked down with a squeak, one that Alfred did hear and laughed about as he reentered the air.

            He flew around for a while, light filtering through some of the feathers before he landed less gracefully than he took off. He stumbled a few steps almost falling onto the ground with flailing limbs and fluffed out feathers. America soon adjusted himself jogging over to the other. He held out a hand with a smile.

            France grabbed it as he was pulled to his feet. “Thank you for helping me stand u-” in the next second he was lifted bridal style into the Americans arms. “Umm, Alfred what are you..?”

            “Hold on tight, okay?” was all he supplied before he began to run again. France stiffened in his arms shaking his head wildly.

            “ _Non, non, non, **non!**_ **”**

            There was a gust of air and a fluttering of feathers before everything evened out with the occasional flap of the other’s wings. France’s eyes kept screwed shut as the American laughed.

            “Come on man, it looks great from up here. Just open your eyes I won’t drop ya,” America shouted over the wind with a laugh. France cracked open one eye before gasping at the view. They were a good twenty meters above the ground climbing higher and higher into the sky with every wing flap.

            France went silent as his land passed quickly underneath the two of them. It was something to be seen. It was different than being in an airplane or helicopter, it was not restricting. It was just floating. It felt so open so _free_.

            He quickly snapped a few pictures cradling the camera to his chest.

            “Cool right?” America asked him with a smile.

            France nodded licking his lips, “Yes, but we are rather high _non?_ Maybe you should just bring me back to the ground.”

            A grin split across Alfred’s face. “Alrighty.”

            France felt a rush of air as he was let go sailing through the air with Alfred still somewhere else. He snapped a few photographs on accident while terror stricken. He let out a screech screwing his eyes shut once again.

            There was a swooshing noise to his right side before he was tackled buck up into the sky securing back in America’s hold once more. The boy was laughing like a lunatic.

            “ _Salaud! Vas te faire encule !_ ” Francis shouted at the other slapping him on the shoulder a few times.

            He just kept laughing then something occurred to France.

            “Wait, how are we going to get down if you cannot even land by yourself?”

            America stopped laughing as a look of contemplation crossed over his face. He then just looked at the other with a stricken type of feel in his eyes.

            “I have no clue.”

            “ _Fantastique._ ”

* * *

 

            America had to return back to his country the next week. He had meetings to catch up on and plans to see through. France understood with a good hearted laugh patting the other on the back. _‘Visit soon, oui?’_

            America had nodded before hugging the other tightly. Within a few minutes he was outside driving away back towards an airport. Francis’ heart was making small _‘ping’_ noises as he watch the other leave.

            France’s smile fell as soon as the car was out of sight.

* * *

 

            Alfred visited again at the end of August. He had gotten inside the house by climbing in through an open lower story window and tiptoeing his way around a few minutes before finding France reading on the loveseat in the living room. He slunk behind the other silently before leaning over next to his ear.

            “ _Bonjour ballot._ ”

            France had jumped slapping him clear across the face with his book in shock, not registering who it could be. Once he saw America’s face the book lowered. “What?”

            “Woah, you really are an old man seeing is how you can’t even use a book to defend yourself,” Alfred told him with a lazy grin.

            France dropped the book and took a step forward eyebrows raised. “Oh really?”

            “Yeah.”

            France took a step forward. America took one back. France took two steps forward and America had bolted down the hall trying to find a door to hide behind before the other could catch up.

            He had disappeared by the time France padded down the hallway. There was a sudden crash and multiple loud peeps. He froze turning to the room with access to the outside. That’s where his messenger birds were.

_Oh fuck._

            That is where France found himself now, trying not to laugh as America was surrounded on all sides by multiple little white birds. His own wings were out, fluffing up towards the little ones. His face was a bright crimson as they rubbed up against the lower feathers a few settling on his shoulders, head, and lap.

            He shot France a murderous look. “Not one word French fry.”

            France just took out his phone snapping a picture.

            America’s face turned even redder, his wings flaring out in agitation. “Fuck you.”

            “Gladly.”

            A moment passed. America let out a snort. Francis’ smile grew. They both began to laugh at the American’s predicament in earnest.

            It was nice to be back.

* * *

 

            The leaves on the trees soon began to turn colors as autumn fell in the northern hemisphere. Alfred loved being able to leap and run around in piles of leaves like a little kid while France enjoyed grooming said leaves out of America’s wings.

            It was a good agreement.

            Alfred tugged Francis along the path he had found earlier with a giddiness he had not felt in a long time. He had found the perfect spot to hand out in and just talk without having any distractions.  It would be a good place to escape to whenever it was needed.

            “I can’t believe you haven’t explored back here before man! You own all of this property and you never thought to search through it?” America asked the other as he ducked under a low hanging branch.

            “I bought all of the property to be able to have privacy Alfred. My flat in Paris and other two homes in the country side are closer together with other people,” Francis explained to the American. “Not many people know where it is actually.”

            “Really?”

            “ _Oui_ , only you, Canada, and my boss know.”

            America went quiet after that as he continued to lead the other along. He soon grinned dashing forward to a small alcove. There were two trees that grew next to each other forming places for people to sit and climb up on.

            America jumped up grabbing one of the branches as he began to scale the tree stopping only when he reached the first resting place. He sat down with his legs hanging off the side. He quickly took off his jacket unfolding his wings and allowing them to relax with one shudder.

            “Well you coming up?”

            France huffed scrabbling up to join the other. He felt a tug at the upper back of his shirt as he was hoisted up to sit next to the American, who was giggling up a storm.

            “Don’t worry it’s okay if you can’t climb. It takes practice. Plus your old bones must feel the strain after a while; I mean we did walk a bit of a ways out.”

            “Oh how _drôle_ Alfred. I’m in tatters,” he responded back with a jab to the others shoulder. Alfred just grinned and shot him a thumbs up before going silent. There was a storm brewing in his eyes, France was worried.

            “Alfred, are you okay?”

            The boy just shrugged making a popping noise with his mouth. “Suppose so, why d’you ask?”

            His voice was off pitch. He was lying. “ _Amérique,_ please tell me what’s wrong.”

            America’s breath hitched for a moment before his shoulders slumped. “It’s England. He keeps trying to apologize and I don’t know what to do.”

            France blinked once then twice before he released a breath of his own. “Forgive and forget. We cannot hold grudges forever however it does not mean that you have to forget the reason it changed.”

            America looked over at France. France looked over at America. The wheat blond smiled slightly nodding to himself. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

            He knew now that it had been an unhealthy relationship. Knew that England had been lying about something, that something had actually been off. He didn’t know why but he knew one thing for certain, he owed Francis a lot.

            He had been at his side since the whole thing started, since back when he was still a colony trying to reach Britain’s approval, since he had come to help the Europeans; since he had come to him at fuck knows in the morning and was allowed to stay in his home for however long he wished.

            France nodded ruffling the others hair, “Good. I wish you luck of course.”

            America looked back over at France, really looked for the first time in a while.

            He had high arched cheek bones with a slim face that added to what would be considered natural beauty. A slightly kept stubble rested on his chin and got shorter until it disappeared up the line of his jaw. The French nation hadn’t gotten his hair cut in a while either; it lay past his shoulders often tied loosely in a ribbon.

            The edges of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

            His eyes were as deep as the sea.

_‘Ping!’_

            His wings twitched before they opened up to their full wingspan against his own accord. It startled both of them out of their silence as Alfred just sat there a blush making itself known on his cheeks and neck. _Oh my god._

_He’s flashing his wings at me like a accouplement oiseau._

            They both sat there in silence, America frozen in place, France not daring to move either. Alfred could feel his heart fluttering in his chest. It was a different feeling, something like- _like home._

            His head jerked to look at France again. He shifted around putting one leg on either side of the branch scooting over to the other. He looked at him closely chest filling up with something. Filling up with something comforting and loving.

            His wings wrapped around the others body pushing the two closer together. His heart was pounding; America could feel it in his throat threatening to fall out at any moment. France’s mouth opened before closing then opening again like a fish. The American only had one thought; _I want to kiss that._

            So he did.

            It wasn’t a life changing one, or a perfect one. It was far from it really. It was sloppy. It was messy and so unlike the nation of romance and the superpower but neither cared. The kiss was theirs and theirs alone.

            That was all that truthfully counted.

* * *

 

            France had begun to paint again. He looked at photographs from months ago for reference as he drew a boy, no man, flying through the air. It didn’t have the background of the daytime sky however. It had the background of deep space.

            Of deep murky unforgiving space that was really a clash of every color combined until they turned dull and lifeless before being brought back to life with specks of white -stars-  and a freckled angel.

            That is what Alfred was. He was an amazing angel that had the universe at his fingertips of he reached high enough.

            There were three paintings he was finishing up. One was of someone who was doing a dance in the air. The wings were spread out perfectly showing off each individual feather and contour. Their eyes were closed in happiness as the world faded away.

            The second was that of someone looking down at far away Earth. You could not see them, only the gentle rolling places of Europe that could be seen only by satellites. The tips of feathers were seen at the right and left edges of the page, almost as if you could share the angel’s gift.

            The last painting was that of incredible detail. It showed an angel close up peering down at the viewer. They were laughing with a mirthful face alight with freckles and twinkling blue eyes. They were reaching their hands out almost to say _‘it’s alright I’ve still got you’_.

            He set the paint brush down after adding the final detail before grabbing out a smaller one dipping it in white. He needed to name them, needed for them to have a name that represented all that they were.

            All that _he_ was.

            He bit his lip before painting it in on the bottom left corner of each, one in French, the one bellow it in English.

_Liberté en Vol._

_Freedom in Flight._

* * *

 

            France opened America’s door with his hip holding a wrapped up present in one hand his suitcase handle in another. It was cold in New York City and people were still all out and about going on with their lives. It was busy today, but not too bad seeing is how it was only 2 pm.

            France unlaced his boots leaving his suitcase in the door for the moment but took the gift inside. He passed the living room going into the kitchen and dining room. Quickly setting the gift under the tree in said dining room he did a double take.

            France took a few steps back in sock clad feet peering into the living room again. All blankets and pillows that were supposed to be inside it were gone. He raised an eyebrow moving over to the hallway closet. Sure enough the extra comforters and pillows that were usually present were also missing.

            With a slight frown he made his way towards Alfred’s bedroom. _Surely someone wouldn’t only steal blankets and pillows after breaking in?_

            He cracked the door open before letting out a small laugh shaking his head. _Of course._ That was the only thought he had as the door was pushed the rest of the way open. There was a giant nest on the top of Alfred’s bed consisting of every pillow and blanket in the spacious apartment.

            There was a rustling noise before America popped his head out from underneath it. He smiled warmly seeming the Frenchman standing in the door. “Hey,” was all Alfred mumbled out before sticking his arms out making grabby hands. “Come’ere.”

            Francis shuffled over crawling under the warm pile of blankets into Alfred’s arms. Wings soon wrapped around him just as blankets and pillows pushed against them both on all sides.

            Alfred smiled happily peppering kisses all over the others face while making small bird like noises.

            Francis’ heart fluttered before his head was tucked underneath the others chin. He stole a kiss on the others lips first however. With legs tangled together just as much as their hearts were; they both fell asleep chest to chest heart to heart.

            Neither would want it any other way.


End file.
